


you've begun to feel like home

by celosiaa



Series: steady, love + appendices [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Coughing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pneumonia, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Sick Character, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:42:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celosiaa/pseuds/celosiaa
Summary: Though it’s true that they’ve both recently been quite ill, Jon has been fully recovered for days and is ready to stretch his legs, which have grown sore with disuse over the past week or so.  Martin, on the other hand…Got to be careful,Jon thinks, grabbing Martin’s inhaler from where it sits on the coffee table.Martin is recovering from pneumonia, and they decide to take a walk.(missing scene from "steady, love," but can stand alone)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: steady, love + appendices [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826410
Comments: 25
Kudos: 109





	you've begun to feel like home

**Author's Note:**

> CW: illness, coughing
> 
> hi everyone! this is my formal apology for yesterday's angst. just a quick sickfic here where Martin is recovering from pneumonia that he got after the Lonely, and Jon takes care of him.
> 
> enjoy :)

“Hold on a minute, Jon, you can’t just go wandering around in the cold without a hat and a scarf,” Martin shouts adamantly from the next room, rummaging through the closets as Jon rolls his eyes impatiently.

_Course he would be fussing over me._

Though it’s true that they’ve both recently been quite ill, Jon has been fully recovered for days and is ready to stretch his legs, which have grown sore with disuse over the past week or so. Martin, on the other hand…

_Got to be careful,_ Jon thinks, grabbing Martin’s inhaler from where it sits on the coffee table. While his own illness had been relatively minor, Martin’s had turned into pneumonia—and though he says very little about it these days, Jon knows that he’s definitely still in the throes of recovery. That being said, his fever has been gone for some time now, and he’s been coughing less and less, so Jon feels a bit more comfortable bringing him along on a short walk today.

Poor Martin has been cooped up for what seems like ages now, and predictably jumped at the chance to get out for a bit. Though of course, not without some degree of worry over Jon.

“Here,” he says, appearing from the other room with his hand outstretched, offering Jon what might just be the ugliest hat he’s ever seen.

Eying the gaudy orange pompom sticking out from the top, a small noise of petulance escapes from the back of Jon’s throat.

“Put it on, and I don’t want to hear another word about it,” Martin demands, staring Jon down the bridge of his nose like a disapproving teacher.

“Fine, fine,” Jon gives in, throwing his hands up dramatically before snatching the hat from him. “Bossy.”

Pulling his own hat over his ears, Martin quirks up a little lopsided grin, which Jon returns easily—the knot in his chest untwisting just a bit in response. Some days—though it’s been weeks since he’s left the Lonely—it can still be a struggle to bring a smile to Martin’s face, especially since he’s been feeling so poorly.

_God, I never want to stop looking at him._

“Alright, then,” Martin says, still grinning a bit as he turns to look toward the coffee table. “Have you got—”

“Yes, I’ve got it,” Jon says, patting his jacket pocket which holds the inhaler and a pack of tissues for good measure.

“Right. We’re off, then,” Martin replies, taking Jon’s hand and leading them out the door.

\---

The moment the door shuts behind them, Jon is convinced that this was a mistake. It’s _cold_ today—proper cold, and windy enough to bite at his skin, even through all the layers Martin’s got him bundled up in. Nose immediately starting to run at the sting of it, Jon sniffles as he glances up at Martin, who looks just about as hesitant as he feels.

“Do you still want to go?” Jon asks softly, squeezing his hand to let him know that _yes, it’s alright if you say no._

“Erm—maybe not down the hill,” Martin replies, hanging his head a bit. “Not sure I want to climb back up.”

Jon wishes more than anything that he could take away the shame that Martin still feels about this. Though they’ve talked through it many times over the past few weeks, it’s a shadow that Martin has lived under for so long now that it will undoubtedly take some time to shake.

“That’s alright,” Jon assures at once, bring their hands up to kiss the back of Martin’s palm. “It’s alright, darling. Let’s just go back through the garden, then.”

Stepping off the porch, Jon leads them to the other side of their little home, which offers a much flatter patch of grass dotted with trees leading down to the bank of a small stream. Although there is no path here, the ground is even enough, and they set off at a leisurely pace toward the pleasant sound of water bubbling over the rocks.

_I could get used to this,_ Jon thinks dimly, smiling a bit to himself as he considers their surroundings. 

_Martin’s hand in mine, no Institute, no statements…just us and the warmth of our fireplace._

After a mere few minutes of walking, however, their pace begins to slow considerably—Martin fringe hanging over his eyes as he tips his head down against the wind. With a start, Jon takes notice of his breaths—coming in heavy, wet-sounding gasps now, as a hand reaches up to press against his chest.

“Jon, I—” he cuts off at once to gasp, stopping in his tracks as he doubles over, slipping his hand from Jon’s to brace against his knees.

“Are you alright?” Jon asks gently, alarm spiking through his mind as he begins rubbing gentle circles over Martin’s back.

Unsurprisingly, Martin nods his reply, even as he begins to cough—deeper and more painful than any Jon has heard in a while.

“Oh god—”

Feeling the weight of his own helplessness, Jon can only continue rubbing his back, resting his other hand over his shoulder. Martin’s scarf blows wild in the wind as he continues hacking for nearly half a minute, chest heaving with effort even after the fit has finally come to an end.

“Do you need the inhaler?” Jon asks quietly, hand already reaching in his pocket.

“No, I’m—I’m okay, I’m alright,” Martin says breathlessly, lifting himself slowly back to his full height. “I’m alright. Do you want to keep going?”

The look Jon gives him now is one of shocked incredulity.

“Do I—wh— _no_ , Martin, of course not!” he sputters, reaching a hand up to check Martin’s brow for fever. “We’re turning around this instant.”

Martin hangs his head yet again, eyes squeezing closed as Jon takes his hand to lead him back to the cottage—feeling the embarrassment and shame roll from him in billows. Sensing his apology on the horizon, Jon jumps to cut him off at the pass.

“It’s alright, love,” he murmurs, draping an arm across his waist in support. “Don’t worry about it. Just take it slow, and I’ll match you, alright?”

Nodding miserably, Martin keeps his head down as they trudge back through the grass, slowing their pace more and more with each minute that passes. They’re nearly there, the warmth of the light they’d left on inside beckons Jon from the window, promising rest and comfort—

But Martin stops dead in his tracks at the far corner of the house, doubled over again with such deep, rattling hacks that Jon can feel the pain rise in his own chest.

“Oh, darling—”

He rubs at Martin’s back again, this time keeping his arms draped around his waist for support. To his dismay, the coughing does not seem to want to stop, merely growing shallower and more rapid with each moment that passes.

“Here, Martin, the inhaler—”

Jon fumbles through his pocket to hand it to him—though Martin’s hands shake so badly that Jon keeps his own firmly wrapped around it. Expelling as much air as possible from his battered lungs, he takes a deep draw from the inhaler, holding his breath for as long as he can stand before the coughing starts again—once again deep and wet and _heavy_.

The fact that Jon is relieved by this says quite a lot about the state of things.

“There you are, you’re alright, you’re alright love,” he soothes, handing him a tissue and resuming the gentle circles on Martin’s back until he manages to get something up.

“M’sorry,” Martin mutters when it’s all said and done, breaths slowing at last as he straightens back up.

“Don’t,” Jon replies at once. “Don’t apologize. Let’s just get you back inside.”

\---

Thirty minutes later and Martin is back in their bed, coughing exhaustedly into a tissue as Jon reenters the room, two steaming cups of tea in his hand.

“God, sorry,” he mumbles reflexively, nose wrinkling in disgust as he tosses the tissue away and accepts the mug from Jon.

“What did we say about apologies, sweetheart?” Jon reminds gently, perching on the edge of the bed and running a hand up and down Martin’s forearm.

“Right, s—I mean, right,” he says quietly, taking a cautious sip of his tea.

As he does so, Jon reaches up a hand to press against his brow, sweeping his overgrown fringe out of the way as he does so.

“No fever,” he reports, relieved. “So it was just the cold that got to you then.”

“Must have been,” Martin replies, drinking deeper from his mug this time, pulling a smile onto Jon’s face.

_Must have gotten it right at last._

Patting his arm, Jon moves to standing, leg aching a bit with the sudden change in weather.

“Do you want to take a nap? I can go back downstairs, if—”

“No, I—well I do want to nap, but…you can, um. Stay here. If you want to, I mean,” Martin stammers nervously, the tips of his ears flushing as he does so.

_I want nothing more._

“Of course,” Jon murmurs, walking around to the other side of the bed at once.

As soon as he climbs beneath the blanket, Martin shifts—head coming to rest against Jon’s shoulder with a sigh, which turns quickly into a few coughs, stifled quickly behind closed lips.

“Alright?” Jon asks at once, carding a hand through Martin’s wind-blown locks.

At this, Martin lifts his head slightly, turning to meet Jon’s worried gaze with warm hazel eyes.

“How could I not be?” he smiles, stretching up to press a kiss against Jon’s cheek, lips warmed by the steaming tea.

_God, I love him._

Face melting into a smile, Jon wraps his arms gently around him—and they spend the afternoon in the quiet, drawing the cold from each other’s bones.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! come find me @celosiaa on tumblr if you want to chat, send a prompt, whatever! have a great day <3


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